


Sunday Afternoon

by SqueerrelGirl



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Gen, just some good old-fashioned fluff, this just kinda...happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-09-02 12:03:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16786600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SqueerrelGirl/pseuds/SqueerrelGirl
Summary: A late start makes for a soft John, and a soft John makes for sweet memories.





	Sunday Afternoon

**Author's Note:**

> this only happened because @BrooklynBugleBoy offhandedly convinced me i could do it so shoutout to her <3

A warm arm snakes its way around her waist, pulling its owner closer to her as she sits in bed with her book. “Morning, my love.” John mumbles, and the sound of his sleep-roughened voice brings a smile to his companion’s face.

“Darling, it hasn’t been morning for hours!” she chuckles, closing the faded paperback and smiling down at him. “I was going to make breakfast when you woke, but it’s a tad late for that now, don’t you think?”

John props himself up beside her on his elbows, an audible grin forming around his words. “Not too late for food at all, though?”

Feet slide into soft slippers as she gets out of bed. “Of course not. You better speed up though, I’ll eat everything if you won't help me.”

“I suppose that's fair.”

* * *

The two work together in the kitchen, dicing vegetables, scrambling eggs, frying bacon. The radio, softly playing, sets the soundtrack to their dance. As the songs change, the couple's pace changes. John's knife pierces through peppers to the beat of the music as her hips move along, both of them singing to the voices on the stereo.

All seems to be going well, food starting on the stove, toast in the toaster, oranges waiting to be juiced on the counter. John's hands on her hips as she pushes bacon back and forth in the skillet. A bubble in the grease pops and she jumps back, landing on her lover's body as the two fell. “Hey love, are you alright?” John asks, worry streaking through his voice.

“Yeah, no, I’m fine, sweetheart. Just a little fall, we've both done worse.” She giggles at the memory of silly little accidents from years ago. The two stand up, a limb-by-limb process in which the two climb each other to return to an upright position. The two laugh at themselves, almost falling over again before finally straightening themselves out. “Remember that one party of Freddie’s?”

“You’re going to have to be more specific than that, dove. Fred throws lots of parties.” His laugh echoes in the sunny kitchen. “And we’ve been to nearly all of them.”

“I suppose that’s right, but I won’t specify.” She smirks, moving to pull off the bacon and pour in some eggs. “Get to juicin', Johnny boy.” John laughs quietly, following the instruction and gets to work on the oranges.

The song changes, the opening of Roberta Flack’s “Killing Me Softly With His Song” flows gently through the speakers. A grin spreads on her face as she begins slinking back over to John, who stands halving oranges with his back turned to her. As the voice starts to sing on the radio, she wraps her arms around him, pressing her temple to his spine as she sings along.

_Strummin’ my pain with his fingers_

_Singin’ my life with his words_

_Killin’ me softly with his song_

_Killin’ me softly with his song_

“I always forget how much I love when you sing to me.” John sighs, setting down his knife.

“Even with my terribly awful voice?” she smiles.

John turns, grasping her waist in his hands. “My dove, your voice is sweeter to my ears than nectar to a hummingbird, more beautiful than the stars in the sky. Your voice is music embodied in my heart and you should know that.” He pulls her closer, the two swaying back and forth as she begins to sing along again. “Dance with me?”

She blushes and grins, taking one of his hands. They take off, John leading his partner with graceful steps. One, two, three steps and their feet are sinking into the soft carpet of the living room. Four, five, six, and they’re gliding around the coffee table. Their laughs as he lifts her in the air fill the air, melding with the silky voice on the radio.

_Strummin’ my fate with his fingers_

_Singin’ my life with his words_

_Killin’ me softly… with his song_

As the music swells, he spins her, and she lands in a dip in his arms. “No wonder they call you ‘Disco Deaky,’ love,” she muses. “Not once in my life, have I had someone dance with me like that.”

“Not you too…” John whines as he stands her up. “Why don’t the boys give you a weird nickname?”

A cheeky smile appears on her face. “Well that’s simple, honey. I’m not one of the boys.”

“You’re not wrong. I wouldn’t do this to the boys.” He lifts her chin and kisses her, softly, gently. His fingers caress her neck as they embrace, enjoying every microsecond of their contact and trying to burn it into their memories. “Besides, they don’t know me the way you do, and as much as I love them, I don’t need them as much as I need you.”

Tears start forming in her eyes, glimmering in her already flushed face. “John, love, they’re your family! I’m just…me. One day you might find someone to replace me, nothing can replace Queen.”

John holds her cheeks in his hands, swiping a tear away with his thumb. “Just because ‘m famous doesn’t mean you’re not the light of my life. It definitely doesn’t mean I’ll ever replace you. I love you, more than I love playing music. And,” he smirks, “we can play pretty great music together, just us two, don’t you think?”

Her responding giggles were stopped when she caught the scent of smoke. “John, do you smell that?”

He smelled the air. “Uhh, weren’t we making breakfast?”

“Shit!”

“Last one to the kitchen has to take responsibility!” John laughs as he lets go of you.

She leans on the wall behind her. “I can’t believe I’m in love with a child.”


End file.
